Dasvidania
by Scarletstar20
Summary: What makes an assassin tick? A cold evening in Siberia makes Christie realize that she doesn't quite know the answer. A Christie Bayman one shot. Revised sorta. R& R please.


Authors Notes: This is a Bayman Christie story but not exactly a Bayman Christie paring. It came to me while I was listening to Bon Jovi in the shower, and wouldn't let me work on my LeiJann Fic until I'd hammered it out. I've updated this fic, like I said I would. Don't worry if you liked it, I haven't really made any mega changes, just the usual grammar and changing around of sentences to make it read better. Read and Review please! I hope you enjoy!

I do not own any of the DOA characters. Don't sue me, I have to pay for college. Also "You Give Love a Bad Name" is Bon Jovi's song, not mine.  


Dasvidania_  
_

_Shot through the heart  
And you're to blame  
Darling, You give love a bad name  
I play my part and you play your game  
Baby, you give love a bad name  
You give love a bad name…_

The American music played gratingly overhead as he watched her impassively. He knew exactly who she was. So she had changed her hair color and replaced her own predatory eyes with innocent baby blue contacts, it didn't matter. Her movement and mannerisms were all still there. It was a tad sloppy, but he guessed the prey wasn't as trained as him. They probably hadn't even heard of this assassin before; she was far from home. The amusing part was that they were eating it up. She giggled and laughed and hiccupped and they were wrapped around her finger. It wasn't how he would have done it. He was more straightforward. There was an advantage to being as large as he was, he supposed, he could have easily taken down three or four of the security guards at once. It was really the guards people like them had to worry about. A pudgy little man like the Russian Minister of Finance would never be able to defend himself against him or her. Even when hiding out, he was clueless. It would be his final mistake.The Siberian wind shook the wooden shack that was the bar, making the lights overhead shake. He quietly changed his position so he could hear and see more of her game, careful to keep his face out of the light. Although they may not have heard of her, he was sure they knew the name Bayman well.

The Minster stood awkwardly with the pool cue. He obviously didn't play much, but pool wasn't the game he was interested anyway. She took another swig of beer from her pint and aimed at the next ball. Her brown hair brushed against her exposed shoulder and the one sleeve of her shirt dipped alarmingly low or her other side. Her leather pants were stretched taught as she leaned in. She let her pool cue skitter across the green felt, giving the illusion that she was drunk. He held his drink to his lips and smiled as he took a sip. Nice, he thought to himself, very nice.

The minister was thinking the same thing about something different and apparently her shakiness with the cue had made him decide it was time to make a move.

He came up behind her

"Anya, don't you get cold in such little clothing? Our Siberian winters can strip you to the bone if you don't have something to keep you warm."

He placed his arms around her.

_Paint your smile on your lips  
Blood red nails on your fingertips  
A school boy's dream, you act so shy  
Your very first kiss was your first kiss goodbye_

She smiled knowingly, and turned to face him. For just a moment her glance met Bayman's and she lost just a little bit of the faked sweetness in a feral silent greeting from one assassin to another.

Her original look was replaced in a flash as she leaned seductively on the pool table, and put a finger to her lips. Bayman placed down his drink suddenly. She was going to do it here? Was that smart? He tilted his head to get a better view of the guards she'd have to take down. Not to mention the bartender and four or five other patrons. He didn't include himself, largely because it would be foolish of her to take him head on, she'd probably attempt to find another way to kill him later. A good assassin doesn't leave witnesses. Her technique at getting the needle was flawless. She probably had hidden it beneath the skin. She kissed him softly before she leaned in to whisper something into the minister's ear.

She was flashy; he could guess what she said; "_Dasvidania"_.

The flick of her wrist let him know she had done the deed. The minister's tongue lolled out of his mouth as she pushed him away with a laugh. His dead weight hit the floor hard. She had severed the nerves and vertebrate connecting his brain to the rest of his body. His heart had stopped beating and his lungs had stop processing his oxygen probably before the poor fool realized he was dead. The guards were stunned for a moment as they processed the fact that this woman, pale and innocent looking, had slaughtered their boss. Before they could react, she smiled naughtly at them and stuffed something in her mouth. She seized immediately, falling against the pool table. Foam sprayed out of her mouth, coating the security, who were slowly being to understand the situation. Then she was still.

One of the braver guards hesitantly approached her and felt for a pulse, and then shook his head. Bayman fought the uncharacteristic urge to laugh. So she was playing it this way, was she? Using the old escape the morgue trick. An assassin would let the other party think that they were dead and when the body was taken to the morgue before autopsy, they would wake up and escape. It was a good trick to use; against measly western cops. Pity she didn't understand that this was Siberia. There were no morgues here. He guessed that once they were done making arrangements for the minister, they would dump her corpse in the crater about two miles off. Her outfit would give her 20 seconds of life at most before the below zero temperatures killed her for real. He shook his head, she should have been more careful. He got up to leave, the show over, and turned back to look at her. She was splayed out like Cleopatra after she had been bitten by the asp. Her eyes were still open, blank and shattered; the feral, teasing expression that had been in them moments before had been obliterated. The wind roared outside and snowflakes slammed up against the window. It was going to be colder than usual tonight. The security was running around in a panic, one was trying to call Moscow from the bar phone, another was asking the bar patrons what they knew about 'Anya'. The other two were moving the minister's body. Bayman hesitated for a moment and then the next he was out on his snowmobile. A cry rose up from the bar. The assassin's body had vanished.

She was not where she was supposed to be. She knew it before she opened her eyes. It was too warm. Her muscles tensed as her eyes flew open. A wooden ceiling, candlelight flickering softly across it, greeted her gaze. The warmth was caused by a rough wool blanket that had been pulled up to her chin. She turned her head to see a familiar large body sitting in the corner of the small wooden shack. Bayman. she remembered him watching her at the bar. She reached for the knife in her pants pocket only to feel her own skin. Then she realized it. She was naked, absolutely completely naked. She thrashed under the sheets as she checked her on body weapons. The needles she kept inside her mouth had been removed from under the skin of her cheeks and upper lip. The two kept slightly under the skin of her wrist had been removed as well as the one on the back of her neck. She felt for the one on her inner thigh, it was gone as well. What had he done, gone over her with a metal detector? She also noticed she was slightly damp and her hair was back to its original white shade. Her contacts had been removed. She lay as god made her on the bed.What exactly had he done to her while she was out? She sat up, letting the blanket fall off her front, not bothering to be modest. Her clothing lay on a roughly carved table in a heap. Her knives and needles were neatly laid out next to them.

"Have a nice nap, Christina?" Bayman asked sarcastically in a low voice. He was checking his own weapons and supplies in his backpack.

"What am I doing here and why am I naked?" She snapped.

Bayman ignored the ungrateful, indignant tone in her voice.

"You know that jack in the box trick that you tried to use only works when the morgue is not a six foot crater in the middle of -15 degree Fahrenheit Siberia, don't you? " He gave her a moment to let the fact that she had slipped up, and had almost died because of it, sink in. He saw it on her face minutely, in the sudden tenseness of her cheeks, even though she hid the rest of the signs of enlightenment well. When she spoke, it wasn't about her avoided death.

"Christina? You know I only use that name in Japan, during the DOA. It's Christie, not Christina."

The name Christie sounded like it belonged on a bright, bubbly, young thing, not a dark creature like her. It was probably why she used it. He couldn't bring himself to call her that, though. It was too ridiculous.

"Would the little western girl prefer Anya?" He sneered at her, "No, I won't waste a strong russian name on a woman that was so sloppy" he quipped. She smiled slightly, baring her teeth.

"If you disapproved so much why did you save me then?" she retorted

The question hung heavy in the air of the room. Bayman chose not to address it, simply because he didn't really know. Christie refused to accept the silence as an answer.

"Was it because you were feeling generous?" She drawled, and then threw off the cover that had concealed her lower half. "Or were you expecting some kind of favor." She tilted her head seductively. When it came to men, a woman always had a weapon: her body. Her pose practically dared him to respond and when he did, she'd have him.

He barked in laughter and let his eyes slide over Christie's body and then her face. The look he gave her made her drop the act right away.

"Don't try to use those tricks on me; you of all people know I am not a slave to that kind of intimacy."

She shrugged, admitting it. To people like them, intimacy had nothing to do with the pleasures of sex. Intimacy was built into the way they worked. Death was intimacy. The brief moment of contact of skin as a windpipe was crushed or a needle was stuck into that special spot, the electricity of that moment, teetering on the cusp of life or death was true ecstasy. The last moments of life fleeing as the contact ended, the bittersweet memory. Compared to that, the gateway between heaven and earth, what was mere mortal pleasure?

"The foam spray from your pills was all over you clothing. I cleaned them for you, your coat is on the peg", he motioned to the table and then to the door, "They should be dry, you slept long enough."

He slung on his vest and then his fur coat and other clothing for surviving the cold. He looked like a bear. He gave her an appraising look, and she couldn't tell what opinion he'd settled on.

"I'm going ice fishing for a couple of days, be gone when I get back." He stated picking up his bag. She rose quickly from the bed in anger.

"Wait a minute, why'd you do it!"she said reaching out and grabbing his arm. She was angry; the fury shone in her face. "If I screwed up, I should have died! Saving people is just not done…"

…_by people like us;_ was the unsaid portion of the thought, he knew. He looked at her again, she was older than he'd first thought. How could a woman known through out the underworld for her technique be so juvenile? Did she really know nothing but killing? He pitied her. Did she really think all assassins were the same? If she was naïve enough to think that, then she would find herself in a similar situation as the one tonight again soon, and this time he wouldn't be there to save her.

He shrugged, "I guess even people like me show mercy sometimes", coolly separating himself from her , "_Dasvidania_"

The door back out into the world opened and the cold sliced through Christie, forcing her back. Bayman took one final look at her, and was gone into the snow.

She stood there for awhile, in that isolated room with its warmth. Blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

She whispered to the emptiness in an inaudible voice. "_Dasvidania"_


End file.
